


been an angel all year

by brophigenia



Series: the poly dreampack holiday series [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Facials, Grinding, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, Hot Tub Sex, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, Joseph Kavinsky’s Intimacy Kink, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, OT5, Okay so I need a vacation, Prokopenko Lives, and so I decided to send my favorite boys on one instead, winter vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: “Gonna be a good fucking Christmas.”(AKA, K rents a cabin in the snowy mountains of wherever the fuck rich people go for alpine recreation. He invites his boys. There are, predictably, sexy results.)
Relationships: Jiang/Joseph Kavinsky/Prokopenko/Skov/Swan
Series: the poly dreampack holiday series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628791
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	been an angel all year

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [gonna soak up the sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406473) by [brophigenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia). 



> Happy Holidays!! Happy Solstice!! Have some hardcore porn! Let’s make this Yuletide the gayest yet! 
> 
> Title from Santa Baby, cut lyrics from Fleet Foxes.

_ i was following the pack, all swallowed in their coats _

_ with scarves of red tied ‘round their throats.  _

***

“Merry Christmas!” Skov laughed, tumbling in the door with Swan close behind, the pair of them dressed in a couple of truly  _ hideous  _ fair isle sweaters that  _ may _ have been in fashion when their parents were young, vintage ski lodge wear that somehow didn’t look ridiculous on them. Well— not  _ overly  _ ridiculous. Skov’s mouth was wine-dark and his eyes were half-lidded. Swan’s arms were overflowing with professionally-wrapped presents. They made a sight for sore eyes, especially to K, who had been waiting for what felt like an eternity for his boys to arrive. 

He’d been expecting Proko to show up first, but, as it always did, the O’Hare airport disappointed him with unreasonable delays and cancelled connections. Jiang would show up last, whip-thin and gleaming like a slice of obsidian that K coveted like the Hope goddamn Diamond, as was his custom. Swan and Skov always arrived as a pair, though they did not live that way; K liked the look of them side-by-side, a mismatched set that pleased him beyond words. 

“Happy Christmas, luv,” Swan said, quieter, just for K in a different way that Skov’s greeting was  _ just for K.  _ He came close enough that he could press their mouths together, leaning over and around his armful of gifts. K luxuriated in the feeling of it, Swan’s full mouth and the sharp cinnamon taste of him that ensured K popped a Pavlovian boner every time he smelled a pack of Big Red or took a shot of Fireball. 

“Ay, gimme some of that.” Skov whined, feigning brattiness as he scooted Swan out of the way so he could kiss K, himself, cupping the side of K’s neck and spanning his windpipe with the webbing between thumb and forefinger. It was a threat that K would not take from a soul on earth besides his boys, Wu-Tang’s  _ Protect Ya Neck  _ ringing in his ears on constant refrain when other people tried to get too close to his jugular. 

“Hey, sluts.” K murmured dizzily when he pulled back from Skov’s mouth, keeping his eyes closed for a long moment so he could savor the feeling of it, gloriously uncaring of how dorky it made him look. It was possible that he’d had a cup (or three) of the heavily-spiked spiced eggnog that the housekeeper had made up before leaving him alone in the palatial rented cabin hours before. “You miss this dick that bad?” With that he looked at them, trying to school his expression into something not so transparently fond. 

Swan grinned wryly and went to arrange the presents beneath the oversized Christmas tree that towered in the corner of the cabin’s great room, covered in antique ornaments and wrapped in tinsel. The pile contained a couple packages for each member of their pack, including a pair of small boxes marked simply  _ K  _ on their tags in neat, impersonal handwriting. A contracted job if K had ever seen one. Still, excitement flared low in his gut at the sight. He’d gotten plenty of  _ things  _ as a kid from his parents, but they’d been impersonal, the sort of things that  _ all  _ too-rich too-unsupervised Jersey kids got for Christmas. Keeping up with appearances. As he got older the presents dwindled, and so had the pretense of care. By the time he’d made it to Aglionby, K had all-but-forgotten the notion of Christmas as anything other than the one night of the year he couldn’t find an open liquor store to flash his fake I.D. and black AmEx in for some Standard and cigarettes. 

“Yeah, I’ve been  _ gagging  _ for it.” Skov rolled his eyes, and then went to throw himself down onto one of the wide leather couches in the center of the living room, near the roaring fire. He heeled off his heavy snowboots, exposing striped socks, and stretched his arms above his head to flash a strip of obnoxiously-sculpted ab muscles. Belying his sarcastic tone, K could see Skov’s cock thickening in his tight jeans. Another, altogether different, thrill of excitement raced through K’s gut. 

“Well, well, well,” K purred, and strode over so he could throw one long leg over Skov’s shoulders, kneeling unevenly above him on the couch. He felt good, with the fire’s heat at his back and Skov, prettiest boy in the whole entire world, beneath him wet-mouthed and dark-eyed. Feigning indifference, even as he was licking his peony-pink lips. His tongue was stained dark, too, from the wine he’d no doubt been swigging in the passenger seat on the way up the mountains. “If you’ve been  _ gagging  _ for it…” 

It was a line, and it was 70s-porno levels of ridiculous, but Skov only opened his mouth wider, wiggling his jaw a little to stretch it out in preparation. K’s hands were sure as they undid his belt, then his zipper, drawing out his hard cock so he could tap it against Skov’s waiting lips, his perfect teeth, enjoying the edge of pain along with his pleasure. When he dipped inside to rub the head of his cock against Skov’s flattened tongue, K couldn’t help but groan at the sight, too-much, dropping his head back even as he flexed his hips forward, fucking into Skov’s hot mouth to a chorus of muffled, overwhelmed groans from the man himself that vibrated down his shaft and hit him right in the pit of his stomach. 

“Mm, what a pair.” Swan murmured in appreciation as he came in from carrying the rest of their bags from the car, snowy-shouldered and stamping his boots clean before he toed them off at the door, shutting out the cold and dropping the luggage carelessly as he came forward to kiss K again, this time with his hands free so he could cage K’s face in them, lips the best kind of drug there was, distracting K until he couldn’t even remember to thrust his hips into Skov’s waiting throat. 

He came like that, little jerks of his hips that barely moved his cock or dislodged it from Skov’s flexing throat, mouth busy and full of Swan’s  _ tongue,  _ lips getting bruised by Swan’s nibbling teeth and how he liked to  _ suck  _ on them. It was  _ everything. _

“Gonna be a good fucking Christmas.” K commented breathlessly once he’d collapsed back to lay in the open space between Skov’s thighs, drunk and hot and  _ dizzy,  _ watching lazily as Swan took out his own cock and slowly  _ (oh  _ so slowly) jerked himself off onto Skov’s messy, beautiful face. Skov’s hand snuck down the front of his pants, jerking his own cock at a far more frantic speed. “Fuck, he’s such a slut for it, huh?” This was directed to Swan, who rumbled low. 

“Slut for cock, yeah.” He agreed, watching as Skov tried to turn his chin fast enough to get his mouth around the head of Swan’s cock, though he was not  _ quite  _ fast enough. It was an arresting sight. Swan and Skov were the perfect pair; they were like the best, filthiest, most high-budget porn. K sometimes thought that  _ watching _ them fuck was better than  _ actually _ fucking them. 

“Oh!” Skov shouted then, and came, going pliant and limp as he waited for Swan to finish all over his lips, his chin, the long elegant line of his throat. His sweater was rucked up over his nipples from his squirming, and the hemlock tattooed on his ribs was stark against his winter-pale skin.

He was gorgeous. He was a painting come alive. 

He was  _ K’s.  _

_ “Baby.”  _ Swan groaned deeply, meaning either or both of them, and striped Skov up the way he’d wanted to since he’d watched K fucking his mouth right there in the middle of the day-bright living room. Shameless. Free. Everything was bright; everything was  _ bright.  _

_ “Such _ a good Christmas.” K mumbled again, and curled up on Swan, mashing his face into Swan’s countertop-flat sternum and curling his ever-cold fingers beneath the hem of Swan’s stupid ugly sweater. Skov wandered off to find a bathroom equipped with everything he’d need to scrub the semen and saliva out of his meticulously-maintained pores. 

K fell asleep like that, heavy and full-feeling. 

He woke to the clatter of boots on hardwood and the obnoxiously-loud swearing that indicated Prokopenko had arrived on the scene. “Goddamn fucking  _ frosty  _ cold out there!” He was letting in snowflakes as he dragged  _ three _ suitcases, a hockey stick, and a  _ snowboard  _ through the door, scuffing the expensive flooring. K shivered as the chill touched him, Swan’s hands stirred on by the tremble in his limbs to start chafing over his back, his arms, trying to warm him up even as he started to chirp Proko for his clumsy entry. Skov was still nowhere to be found, though outside the sky had gone from  _ afternoon _ to  _ dusk. _

Proko dropped his bags with a thunderous sound— by K’s estimation, one held clothes and the other two held books, ice skates, a snowboarding helmet, all the various detritus of  _ Prokopenko in the snow.  _ Or just  _ Prokopenko.  _ He was a mobile mess of a man. Of a  _ dream.  _ K reached out an imperious arm, waiting with dark eyes while Proko  _ sauntered  _ over, still wearing his stupid puffer coat and ugly toque. His cheeks were pink with the cold. His eyes sparkled. K wanted to  _ eat  _ him. 

“I could eat you up.” K mumbled raspily right before their mouths connected. “Could tear you to fucking  _ pieces.”  _ It was reminiscent of his more manic 3 AM Aglionby ramblings, when he was prone to great proselytizing under the influence of whatever the fuck he could Hoover up his nose, rub into his gums, swallow into his guts. 

Proko’s kiss was cold, his lips like ice, his mittened hands wet with snow when they touched the sides of K’s face, his ears, his  _ throat  _ so tenderly. “I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes—“ he was quoting something, the way he always was, when he wasn’t barking out laughter or swear words. A bookworm former hockey jock. He made no sense. 

Dreams seldom did. 

“Neruda.” Swan answered, like he was a contestant on goddamn  _ Jeopardy.  _ Proko laughed as if to say  _ yes, that.  _ K vied for more attention by stretching his neck forward and laying the soft kisses that inspired both impatience and ardency from Proko on the corners of his thin, petal-red mouth. It was an easy enough thing to get, Proko’s attention. He was spacey and  _ strange,  _ but Proko loved nothing more than touching K. Not his books, or his skates, his car,  _ nothing.  _

He wasn’t turned on— K was twenty  _ goddamn  _ five now, and he was  _ tired.  _ The months since he’d seen his boys felt like an ocean, an abyss, full of headaches and late nights and fine little lines appearing beside his eyes, across his forehead, when he was very tired. 

He wasn’t turned on, or at least he wasn’t going to be getting it up, but K  _ hungered.  _ Proko was a piece of him in a way that none of his other boys were; Proko was a piece of him, bone and flesh, the way  _ nobody  _ was anymore. Not since he’d buried his mother. There was Proko, a piece of K’s soul, and sometimes it was all K could do not to devour him, take him back  _ inside  _ where they could be one again. 

Sex was like that— or, getting fucked by Proko was like that. Like reforming into one being. Like coming home. 

“Oh,” Proko sighed, so sweet, and then was kneeling on the couch straddling one of K’s thighs, bulky jacket encumbering his movements and making a shiny friction sound every time he tried to thrust his hips, his  _ cock  _ onto K’s thigh. Swan laughed through his nose and shoved the jacket off of Proko’s shoulders, yanked his toboggan off with one careless hand, the one connected to the arm  _ not  _ wrapped securely around K. 

Proko had been an ice sculpture but was adapting quickly to the heat from the banked fire, from K’s body, from the rushing of his own blood. “Like that,” K encouraged him, baring his teeth in a nasty sort of grin out of outdated habit. “Make yourself come.” He demanded, and Proko groaned low and  _ long,  _ hips trying to glide smoothly but getting caught by the friction of both their jeans, zipper and button not cooperating when Proko tried to tear at them. 

“‘S so hot for it.” Swan mumbled in K’s ear, idle commentary that made Proko groan louder, as much of an attention whore as Skov was. He nodded, eyes shutting tight, making him look so fucking dumb. So  _ young.  _ So much  _ K’s,  _ and K couldn’t hold it in any longer. 

“I fuckin’ love you like this.” He whispered, low and fierce, and then curled his fingers into Proko’s belt loops, jerking him forward and shoving him back as hard as his minimal range for movement would allow. It made Proko go louder, more shameless. More  _ desperate.  _ “I fuckin’ love this. Come on me, Prokes. Give it up.” Proko’s breath hitched; he sniffled. He came with a wordless whimper, fingers coming up to touch desperately at K’s mouth and the ridge of his collarbones, curling like he wanted to burrow inside K’s chest, crawl behind his teeth. 

Like he wanted to be devoured as terribly as K wanted to devour him. 

Skov gave a light round of golf claps from the second floor landing; K blindly flipped him off and huffed out a breath against Proko’s neck where it was mashed against him, Proko gone boneless and useless in the afterglow. 

“I’m fucking  _ hungry.” _ Skov announced, coming down the stairs wearing nothing but a towel hanging low around his hips, all skin and ink on display. 

“Hi, hungry.” Swan said, muffled from beneath the combined weight of K and Proko. “I’m Swan.” 

“You motherfucker.” Skov said after a pause, blinking. “Come make me some goddamn dinner. That was  _ awful.” _ Swan groaned as he heaved himself up, dislodging K and tossing Proko to the ground like a discarded Barbie doll, though he didn’t seem to mind, rubbing his cheek into the sheepskin rug and sighing happily. 

“There’s a hot tub outside.” K said to no one in particular, expecting to be met with some measure of excitement. Instead, he heard Swan murmuring something all low and hot and British in the kitchen, words unintelligible but tone like honey. Proko was already crawling over to his suitcases, digging through them for a book to read. Skov had found the Bluetooth speakers and was playing some kind of terrible indie whine-rap. 

K wanted to be petulant about it, expecting the loneliness to rise up in his chest again, as it always did, but instead he just felt  _ warm.  _ Warm and ravenous, and good-natured, to boot. He ambled to his feet and made his own way to the deck, firing up the hot tub and waiting for it to get ready as he shivered and looked out over the snowy valley below. Even in the dying light from the sunset, the ice on the tall trees glittered like diamonds. Everything was like a painting; nothing so perfect could seem real. 

The contrast of the cold air nipping at his shoulders and face and the hot water surrounding his body was delicious; K dozed with his arms spread and his head laid back, enjoying the heat and the chill, both. The places where his jewelry (platinum and emerald, as a nod to the winter season) touched his skin or pierced through it felt white-hot with cold; he couldn’t stop shivering. He hadn’t thought he’d get hard again, but somewhere in the back of his languid mind he knew that he  _ could.  _

Skov was playing SoundCloud rappers, all thumping bass beat and mumbled, filthy lyrics muffled by the distance but still adding to the mood. It was dark outside, properly, the sun finally gone and the stars brighter than should’ve been possible. 

K loved this. He  _ loved this.  _

“Hey.” Jiang said from the threshold of the glass sliding door, pulling it shut behind him. K was biting down on a smile even before his eyes opened— he craned his neck to look at Jiang, to take him in after long months apart with only texts and Snaps to quell his appetite. There was a new hoop pierced through the cartilage of Jiang’s left ear, exposed by the new way he was braiding his undercut, close to his skull in three intersecting plaits. He was so handsome. The planes of his face were perfectly even. He looked like he belonged in a castle far away, a prince of a man, too-graceful and too-knowing. 

“Took you long enough.” K hailed him, lips curving  _ just _ barely at the corners. Betraying his happiness at the sight of Jiang, whose mouth held a golden flash at the canines and whose smile was a quicksilver delicacy that warmed K more than the water did, more than the eggnog had earlier. 

“Bitch, bitch.” Jiang murmured, in no hurry as he walked over to the edge of the tub, discarding layers of monochrome clothing one at a time. His long-fingered hands made quick work of the job, exposing a notch of collarbone here, a flash of wrist there, the tantalizing curve of his knee. When he was bare-skinned in the cold he looked sleek as an arctic fox, all high cheekbones and neatly-groomed jet-black pubic hair and  _ abs.  _ Made for this, to stand naked in the dark with the snowflakes catching in his hair. 

Jiang hissed as he slipped into the bubbling water of the tub, biceps standing in sharp relief as he lowered his body down, steam practically rising from his chilled skin as the heat touched it. K watched avidly, cataloguing each minute shift of Jiang’s muscles and tendons, the involuntary jump of his belly with the temperature change. He spread himself out on the opposite side of the hot tub as K, settling into a quiet reverie as they studied each other, almost a trance with their eyes locked together. 

“You look…” Jiang said, trailing off, tilting his head to the side.  _ Tired. Good. Older. The same.  _

“Better than you?” K laughed, finishing his sentence, bratty and showy even though he understood what Jiang had not said. Jiang laughed too, a snort of a sound, the only inelegant thing about him. He stretched out a beringed hand and waited for a moment until K reached forward to clasp it, reveling in the pinch of the metal against his bony knuckles. 

For a few breaths they only held hands, clutching each other like a lifeline, eyes locked. A battle of wills— of a sort. 

Finally, K gave the slightest, barest nod; Jiang’s grin flashed again across his face and he gave a sharp yank. K tumbled into his grip, knees slipping against the built-in ledge seat and water splashing around as he settled onto Jiang’s waiting lap. His toes, gone pruny from such long exposure to water, curled at the feeling of their bodies pressing together. 

Skov’s music was still playing inside; the deep bass vibrations stirred the water with each pulse, making it shimmer. Around the bottom of the tub, the jets pulsed. There was too-much and not-enough friction, the water not slick enough but not letting anything  _ catch  _ either; K ground his cock against Jiang’s abs and growled in frustration with the lack of satisfaction. 

Jiang laughed again, one of K’s favorite sounds in all the world. Sometimes he wanted to dream up a box to catch Jiang’s laugh in, so he could open it up at night and fall asleep to it like a lullaby. Sometimes he wanted to cut out all the soft parts of his heart that made him like _ this.  _

Sometimes he wanted to be sharp-edged like a razor blade. 

Other times, he wanted  _ this:  _ Jiang manhandling him around until he was bent over the edge of the hot tub, ass in the air, shivering violently for all sorts of reasons as Jiang  _ spat  _ on him, pushing first one finger and then two inside where he was tight and blood-hot. Electrified inside, with the too-dry friction of Jiang’s fingers curling against his prostate, moaning for it like the cheapest sort of whore. 

“You don’t have to wait for it.” Jiang told him quietly, voice cool in contrast to the vicious way he was fingerfucking K with all the strength in his arm, pinning him in place with his free hand pressing down  _ hard  _ on the middle of K’s spine. He couldn’t breathe without wincing, his ribcage hooked awkwardly over the lip of the tub’s edge. “You can have this whenever you want.” 

_ This,  _ meaning another mouthful of saliva and a third finger, spreading and  _ twisting.  _ Jiang was the best at this; he could tear K apart with nothing more than a few fingers and a flick of his wrist. 

“Fuck off.” K snapped, and shoved his hips back harder. “Fuck  _ me.”  _

“Yeah, J,” Swan said, jeering and  _ warm,  _ always so warm.  _ “Fuck  _ him.” 

“Probably with some actual fucking lube though.” Skov said, clambering naked into the hot tub, too. “Anal fissures and all that shit.” 

K made a face, looking back over his shoulder and baring his teeth. “You’re killing my fucking boner.” He hissed, feeling as vicious as a feral cat. With rabies. 

_ “Bonerrrr,”  _ Proko sang, waving a tube of AstroGlide and tossing it at Jiang with the slick ease of a well-oiled machine. It reminded K of the winters they spent at Aglionby, skating on the same line, passing the puck back and forth like they could read each other’s minds. Jiang caught the lube one-handed, easy as anything, and then slicked up his cock with a nasty-wet sound that had K  _ clenching,  _ going even tighter around Jiang’s gold-adorned knuckles. Virgin-clutch and  _ keening.  _

“You’re all class acts.” Jiang muttered, and then was pushing into K, pulling K back onto his dick, shallowly thrusting forward and pulling all the way out so he could push in again, again,  _ again.  _ “C’mere.” He was covetous with his hands on K’s stomach, curling around his throat, tugging him up and down so they could sit down together in the water, K abruptly  _ warm _ again in more places than the sore stretch of his hole. 

Warm  _ everywhere,  _ Jiang inside of him and Proko leaning over to suck at his nipples, peaked impossibly-hard in the cold air, tugging sharply at his piercings with those wicked teeth. He was making bruises, Proko was— gnawing all wet and mean, chafing and  _ so good.  _

It was easy to come, rocking and riding Jiang’s dick with the help of his hands and the strength in his biceps, the weightlessness of the hot water, Proko’s mouth on his chest and Skov and Swan  _ watching,  _ tangled up where Swan was sitting on the side of the hot tub, Skov leaning back into the naked cradle of his thighs, tangling his fingers idly in Swan’s leg hair, both their eyes  _ keen.  _ Sharks, scenting blood in the water. 

K always did like their eyes on him- all his boys, watching him like he was a god. And he  _ was-  _ even Dr. Beatrice couldn’t dissuade him from  _ that  _ notion, though these days it was more of an idle truth than an egomaniacal delusion. K could rip open the fabric of reality and pull treasures from his  _ dreams.  _

He was a  _ god.  _

He was twenty-five. He was alive. He was with his boys, all of them  _ living.  _

“Fuck.” K swore, and came with a ragged gasp, fully undone. Shrugging off the vestments of humanity for a long span of seconds, an eternity of suspension, a ball of fire wearing human skin. 

“Merry Christmas, K.” Jiang whispered in his ear when he went boneless, as useless as Proko post-orgasm, still working his hips so he could chase his own pleasure, his own release. When he found it, K moaned wretchedly at the feeling of being even  _ fuller,  _ a brief second between  _ hard  _ and  _ soft  _ where he could feel Jiang’s come hotter than hot inside, boiling low in his core. 

It was a good feeling. Like he had months before, K imagined that he’d take the evidence of this time with his boys, carry it inside for longer than physically possible so he could be steadier for it, moving through his day-to-day like he  _ wasn’t  _ missing four of his fucking limbs and  _ bleeding  _ inside. A talisman, a mark, a claim. A reminder. 

“Merry Christmas.” He murmured back, and let himself be bundled out of the hot tub by four sets of competent hands, wrapped in a couple oversized towels and herded inside where their steaks were waiting, hot, in the oven. Jiang and Proko made plans to go skating the next day as they rummaged around for the drinks, casual and easy. Swan packed a bowl and lit up right there, exhaling smoke towards the ceiling even as Skov bitched about his hair and the way their food was gonna taste like weed now. 

K could breathe again, after months of not  _ quite  _ being able to inhale all the way, his lungs pinched tight and a headache always fighting its way to fruition in his temples. 

He never wanted it to end. 

(He was never going to  _ let  _ it end.) 

***

_ and michael, you would fall _

_ and turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime.  _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @brophigenia  
> follow me on tumblr @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
